


You Teach Me (and I'll Teach You)

by weathervaanes



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alpha Scott McCall, Alternate Universe, F/M, M/M, Smut, Stiles is a kitsune
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2014-07-02
Packaged: 2018-02-07 04:29:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1885212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weathervaanes/pseuds/weathervaanes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alphas Scott McCall and Derek Hale don't really interact. There's something to be said, however, for their attraction to each other's kitsunes.</p>
<p>-0-</p>
<p>Stiles makes a face like a puppy has been shoved in his face.  “Your kitsune? Derek, she isn't a Pokemon. Is that why you want all up on this? Are you trying to catch 'em all?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Teach Me (and I'll Teach You)

The meeting comes about because things have changed. Everyone knows that Derek Hale is the Alpha of Beacon Hills. His territory is outlined, his maps clear, his treaties with other packs perfectly legitimate. Derek Hale has the utmost claim over Beacon Hills—but then the true Alpha is born.

Derek and Scott McCall already know of each other before Scott comes into his power. He’s an Omega on Derek’s land, so they have to keep in touch, explain to each other everything that goes down. Scott’s best friend, Stiles, is already a kitsune when Scott’s eyes turn red. Stiles’ girlfriend, Malia, is a werecoyote, and their friend Lydia is a banshee. There’s nothing particularly traditional about their little rag-tag group. They’re not a pack. But Scott is an Alpha.

Now that Scott is an Alpha, his band of misfits is a pack and a pack feeds off the Alpha. Now, a werecoyote, a kitsune, and a banshee feeding off a True Alpha sounds like a bad SyFy-produced movie and it makes it hard for Derek to sleep at night.

His pack is strong and stable and ordinary and perfectly made up of wolves. Except Kira, but they don't go around blabbing about Kira. She's not some Beacon Hills mishap like everyone in McCall's bunch; she is of ancient and respectable blood. She's to be protected.

“Absolutely not,” Derek actually laughs. “You're crazy. Do you think your mother left you with me so I would let you waltz into the forest to meet with a guy we know nothing about? He's Polish, Kira, and you think he's legitimate?”

“That's racist,” Erica says. “I'm not sure how but I'm sure it is.”

“There are other ways to become a kitsune,” Kira says. “It doesn't mean he's sketchy.”

“Except he is,” Boyd points out. “Like I've met the guy, he's absolutely sketchy.”

Derek sighs. “How?” he asks Boyd.

Boyd shrugs. “He’s very—” Boyd frowns for a moment. “You ever seen that YouTube video of the fox jumping around in the snow, like bouncing and burying itself?”

Derek nods. “Sure.”

“He’s like that,” Boyd says. “Energetic and without focus.”

“So how is he a kitsune again?” Erica asks.

“He could’ve been changed,” Kira offers. “We have our own version of Alphas, you know. Just because it happens rarely doesn’t mean it never happens. Or it could have been recessive in his family line, brought to fruition because of interaction with wolves.”

“Or he could have been possessed as a child,” Isaac says from upstairs looking down at them. “You know. Like Scott said he was? If any of you bothered to talk to Scott, who knows his pack a little better?”

“He was possessed,” Erica deadpans. “Well that doesn't sound good.”

Kira blinks. “Possessed,” she says. “That—yes, that would make sense.” Derek looks at her with surprise and she shrugs. “If he was possessed by a fox demon as a child it would have left him as a kitsune, assuming he wasn’t the type of child that was going around killing or maiming animals or setting things on fire for fun.”

Derek grunts. “Okay. But the point stands. You can’t go out to meet with him. Scott and I can—”

“That’s not the way it’s done, Derek,” Kira protests. “I’m your second, as Stiles is to Scott, and we meet before our Alphas do. We’re on even ground.”

“You're not a beta,” Derek says. “You're my ward. It doesn't go both ways the way it goes with the rest of the pack. I protect you and you—sit still—KIRA, COME BACK HERE.”

She’s gone before he can chase after her and Erica laughs, tipping her head back against the couch as they watch Kira go. Hypothetically, Derek could track her down, but a new pack is touchy and they’re expecting Kira to meet them out in the woods. They’re not expecting Derek.

It’s a tense couple of hours. Derek knows that Kira can hold her own, can survive with the best of them, but she’s his responsibility and she just—bounded off into the woods like Bambi’s mom, all ready to be shot by the mean hunter and thrown into the bed of a truck. It makes him nervous, so nervous that he just paces up and down the halls of the house for a lack of something else to do.

“Somebody needs to take that girl's smart phone,” he hears Boyd call out from the kitchen.

Derek takes his pacing in that direction where he finds Erica on the counter, curled around Boyd and looking over his shoulder. “Oh, screw her. She got fed! I want fries.”

Boyd looks up at him with his I-am-entirely-done expression before showing him the screen of his phone. “They've reached food sharing selfie levels and it's been like three hours. I think she's fine.”

Derek blinks. “What?”

“They’re already best friends,” Erica translates. “They’re taking pictures together and eating from food trucks. There’s officially nothing to worry about.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and goes towards the stairs. “If anyone needs me, I’m going to take a nap—you should buy me fries,” she tells Derek. “I’ll expect them when I wake up.”

Derek waves her off. “So we’re okay then?” he asks Boyd.

Boyd nods. “She’ll be back soon, I guess. The post was about twenty minutes ago.”

Derek tries to squint at the phone. “What does it say?”

Boyd sighs. “Says—no one cares that you got faulty werewolf genes, get your ass some glasses.”

“Boyd,” Derek snaps. “What does it _say_.”

“What? Do you think it's a distress signal? It says _'These fries are making a party in my tummy, thanks @curlystiles_.' Yes. She sounds terrified. You absolutely should run after her.” Boyd tucks his phone into his pocket. “Live with it. She made a friend. She’ll come home soon, you’ll get to run your nose all over her, and we’ll live to fight another day. Just not with Alpha McCall’s pack.”

Derek nods stiffly. “Okay,” he says.

Boyd departs upstairs, probably to join Erica, but Isaac is still down on the couch, feet up on the coffee table.

“You worry too much,” Isaac says, turning the page of the book he’s reading. “Stiles may be annoying, but he’s a good advisor to Scott. He’s an asset, and he wouldn’t do anything to harm us. He lives and breathes for Scott, and Scott is a friendly.”

“You're too friendly with Scott,” Derek says as he lifts Isaac legs to get by, “and that's another matter entirely.”

“That is entirely none of your business,” Isaac sniffs. “Besides it's not like that. He's just cool.”

“Uh huh,” Derek says as he reaches for the TV remote, “and I'm not cool.”

“No.” Isaac smirks. “Not cool at all. Such a boring old man.”

“I'm selling you to Peter,” Derek says, “and I'm not even asking what he'll do with you.”

 

* * *

 

Kira comes home smelling like fries, dirt, and happiness. She goes into Derek’s room, sits on the edge of the bed. It’s dark out, and he’s already under the covers, lights off, ready to go to sleep. But still, there she is, and she beams at him.

“He was very charming,” are the first words she says.

“Did you guys work something out?”

“Scott is going to school in San Francisco, just an hour south. He’ll retain control of these territories,” Kira says, spreading out a little map on the bed, “and you will remain in control of these.” She gestures appropriately. “You’ve only lost two square miles, but you’ve gained a good companion. The lands were unclaimed and Scott needs them, could use them.”

Derek hums. “Don't care about land as long as it's not near the house or—”

“I know.” Kira nods. “I know and I didn't say anything. I just kept them safe for you.”

Derek gives a one breath laugh. “Good. I'm proud of you.”

Kira smiles brighter and tugs off Laura's jacket. She hangs it off the bed post and crawls in beside him. “Thanks.”

He kisses her forehead. “You should change.”

She shakes her head. “M'fine. Tired.”

Derek sighs, tugs her close. “Okay,” he says, and he stays there with her as she falls asleep.

 

* * *

 

Things are good for eight months, three weeks, and five days before another issue rears its ugly head. Back in April, when Stiles and Kira met for the first time, everything about Scott and his pack dispersing for college was ideological, all in theory, nothing concrete. Now, in December, they’ve been gone and Derek has been the only Alpha in Beacon Hills for quite a while, and it’s not—hard. He’s done it before. But Malia Tate is going to Beacon County Community College, Lydia Martin is at Stanford, and Stiles Stilinski is at Berkeley, and Kira still feels the need to connect with all of them. It just makes Derek life a little frustrating. Mostly because Kira uses his car. And his gas. And his money.

“I’ll be going to college next year,” Kira says, sticking her nose in the air. “It’s important.”

“You already filled out your applications,” Derek says. “You did not apply for Stanford.”

“I'm very charming,” she says. “Maybe they'll just invite me to stay. Besides Lydia—”

“Lydia Martin is a dark creature,” he says, “in every sense of the word. You're not being as careful as you should be.”

“She's not dark, Derek, jeez.”

“She talks to the dead.”

“No, she hears them.” Kira rolls her eyes. “It's totally different.”

“You're totally an idiot,” he growls.

“I can get mom to help me buy a car if it's that big a problem. And I can work—”

“No,” Derek says, “use my car, I don't care. Just—take it down a notch.” He squirms in his seat. “We don’t need you running around with the kitsune from another pack. If you guys are going to go and have a bunch of fox babies, I need you to not do it around Scott McCall.”

“First of all,” Kira says dramatically, “Stiles just got out of a very long relationship and he’s emotionally unstable and not at all my type anyway. Secondly, Scott doesn’t care that I hang around. He likes me.”

Derek arches an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Not—not like that,” Kira says, but the tips of her ears go red. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

He leans in to loom over her. “Oh, you didn't. Did you.”

“No, you big creep,” she mutters. “His girlfriend died—”

“Allison Argent died two years ago,” Derek says quietly. “People move on.”

“Well it doesn't matter if he has or if he will; it's not like that. He thinks I'm fun. I think that—it just doesn't matter okay? Just leave it alone.”

Derek frowns. “Are you trying to have a casual relationship with an Alpha werewolf, Kira? Do you have any idea how idiotic that is?”

Kira’s cheeks are bright red now. “I understand,” she says.

“So then you’ll end it.”

“There’s no relationship!” Kira protests. “We see each other, we hang out, we have a good time. Last—last time I was down in San Francisco, we went to a club, we had a good time, and he kissed me goodnight. That’s it. We’re not—doing anything.”

He stares at her like she's grown a second head and then stands, grabbing his jacket and keys.

“Where are you going?”

“Out,” he growls, just loud enough that it brings everyone to gather round.

“Derek,” Isaac says quietly, “you don't look human enough to leave right now.”

Erica stifles a laugh in Boyd's arms because Isaac is right, Derek's eyes are bright red and his sideburns fluffy.

“Derek, don't be an idiot,” Kira huffs. “I can take care of myself.”

“No. No, you can't. You were taking care of yourself when you got involved with a young, untrained, overpowered, bitten Alpha. You can't take care of yourself at all, so I'm going to.”

“What’s your plan?!” Kira demands. “You’re going to drive over to his house and tell him, in front of his mother, that he can’t see me? You’re not my father.”

Derek bites his tongue, won’t say what he’s thinking because it’s evil and vindictive and unattractive. “It’s my job to protect you, to take care of you. And Alpha werewolves won’t do gentle goodbye kisses on doorsteps, Kira. They claim, they take, and they don’t look back. You can’t let him think—”

“Scott knows the only person in the world who has a claim on me is me,” Kira spits. “And what does that say about you, that you think Alphas are all so brutish and hostile?”

Derek grunts. “I’m the exception that proves the rule.”

“Ugh.” Erica pulls a face. “I can't even begin to tell you what was wrong with that statement.”

“I'll introduce you to Scott,” Isaac offers. “If you promise to be nice.”

“Promise to be nice!” Derek balks. “He made an attempt on Kira—”

“He kissed me goodnight! Jesus, there wasn't even tongue!”

Boyd sighs very heavily. “Lord.”

Derek ignores him. “You’re in my pack, Kira,” he says harshly, “and Scott is not.”

“He’s not the enemy,” Kira says.

“Maybe not, but he’s not our friend either. He’s an ally, and I understand that you want to have friends like Stiles who are like you, and Scott is his Alpha and he’s accommodating and friendly, but he’s still not a friend. There’s a difference.”

“What would you know?” Kira asks bitterly, crossing her arms over her chest. “Your only friends are a bunch of teenagers you bit to feel powerful.” And with that, she stomps away, up the stairs, hands clenched into fists.

Erica sighs and unfurls from Boyd to lay her hand on Derek's cheek. “You're being a jerk.”

“I'm being responsible,” he mutters.

“Go with Isaac,” Boyd says after a minute. “Be nice.”

Derek drives and Isaac doesn’t even have to give him directions. Derek knows where Melissa McCall’s house is, knows that her son is staying with her over the holidays, and knows—right now—that she is not currently home.

Isaac knocks on the door, and when Scott opens it, Derek’s entirely worldview changes. They’ve had conversations, him and Scott, but always through Isaac. Isaac was their middleman. Isaac was a friend to Scott at school, would run with him, keep him and Derek connected—he and Derek have never formally met until right this instant.

“Oh,” Scott says. He clears his throat, looks over his shoulder. “Good afternoon, Alpha Hale.”

“Good afternoon, Alpha McCall,” Derek says. “May we come in?”

Scott looks a little wary but nods. “Yeah—yes, of course. Is there any trouble?”

Derek steps inside with Isaac and can't help but take a sniff, take in the varied scents of his strange pack. “I just thought it was time we met, time we spoke.”

They shake hands and Scott leads them towards the couch. Derek and Isaac sit there and Scott takes an arm chair just a few feet away, angled towards them. “Is something the matter?” Scott asks. “I did have Isaac inform you when Stiles, Lydia, and I came back into town for the holiday season. I trusted you were aware.”

Derek nods. “I was. I am.”

“What’s on your mind?”

Derek looks at Isaac, who nods. “Kira Yukimura,” he says plainly. “I’ve been told, by her, that it’s not my business to come here and lecture you about it, but I also know that she is my responsibility. Aside from that, my main purpose in visiting you is to—get it out of the way.” He exhales. “I remember, briefly, meeting you when you were first changed, when you were very young. But that was one time, and this is—now.”

Scott rubs the back of his neck. “I was young, Alpha Hale, you’re right. And now I’m older and not necessarily wiser, but I understand more now. And I thank you for visiting me. It’s very appreciated. I’ve always thought we should have truly open lines of communication, beyond Stiles and Kira, and myself and Isaac.” He licks his lips. “As for Kira, I can understand your concerns.”

“I don't think you do,” Derek says, measured but firm. “Isaac, leave us.”

At home Isaac would say no. He'd call him an idiot and remind him why he's here in the first place. But they aren't at home.

“Yes, Alpha,” he says softly before he nods at Scott and heads for the door.

When it’s closed, Derek leans back, crossing one leg over the other. “Kira is my ward,” he says clearly, “and my responsibility. She’s of an incredibly ancient, respectable family. She’s a kitsune, which, until we heard about your friend Stiles, we thought was an extinct race.”

“I am aware of her importance.”

“You are aware of her legacy,” Derek corrects. “You are entirely unaware of the fact that she is family to me, and I will not sit idly by while she gets tossed around by a nineteen-year-old Alpha dragging her to clubs in the city.”

Scott’s nostrils flare. “Alpha Hale, I appreciate your concern for Kira, but I would ask that you understand there is no tossing or dragging or manipulation of any kind. I respect Kira entirely, and I consider her a friend.”

“She is not here to be a friend to you; she is in association with Stiles.”

“Who is in my pack.”

Derek breathes deep. He did promise he'd be nice.

In front of him Scott takes a deep breath himself. “Derek—can I call you Derek? I'm new at this. I don't know if in the world of, like, actual Alphas and everything is always like this—all stiff and ceremonial. And if it is, if it has to absolutely be that way for my pack to be safe? I'll learn. But for right now I'm just like you said, a nineteen-year-old. I go out with my friends, Kira is a friend—”

“You kissed her,” he snaps. “Scott. She's my little sister and you kissed her. That's not going to fly. Informal enough for you?”

“But I like her,” Scott argues, “and she didn’t tell me not to; she didn’t tell me that she didn’t want me to. If she had protested in any way, I wouldn’t have—”

“Our world doesn’t work like this,” Derek interrupts. “You can’t just go around dating whomever you’d like because you’re an attractive young man with time to spare. You’re an Alpha, and she is a kitsune in another Alpha’s pack. I’m telling you right now that you are not allowed to see her romantically.”

“I don’t really think you get to control her decisions, Derek.” Scott shrugs. “She’s a young woman. She has a good head on her shoulders. If she wants to see me, I have no intention of turning her away to soothe your ego.”

“This has nothing to do with ego,” Derek growls. He can hear Isaac pacing nervously outside.

“I have no intention to harm her,” Scott says calmly. “I just want to get to know her the same way she wants to get to know me.”

Derek takes a moment to catch his breath, force himself to calm down. He spreads his hands out against his thighs, looking at his fingers before he looks back up at Scott. “Scott, I understand that you don’t know a lot about this world yet, but I am telling you—Kira doesn’t understand either. And as you learn, you’ll leave her behind. You don’t mean to, but you will. And I’m asking you as the sole person in the world who cares about Kira more than anything else—I’m asking you to leave it alone. Let it go. Choose someone else.”

Scott looks less confident, he looks concerned and confused. “Are you telling me I'm going to lose so much of who I am that I won't be able to make choices about my relationships?”

“Yes,” Derek says without pause. “Being Alpha is about your pack. You'll always put them first.”

Scott looks down at his feet. “I can—I can promise not to seek her out. But if she tries to get in touch I won't—I won't turn her away without an explanation.”

Derek nods. “You can blame it all on me. I'm used to it.”

Scott looks up at him. “Couldn't you—maybe you could teach me. Teach me to be a proper Alpha, someone you won't be worried about. Someone you trust.”

Derek stands. “I wouldn’t be offended, Scott. I don’t trust anyone.” He nods, heads for the door. “Have a good evening,” he says, and then he leaves.

 

* * *

 

Kira is mad at him for several months. The angry glares, the cold shoulders, the way they pass each other and only speak in short, jilted sentences. But months pass, and Kira moves on, and in May she’s—less angry. Not completely recovered, not really, but she knows she’s going to Berkeley in the fall with Stiles, knows that she has a future at least on her parents’ dime, and that’s the end of it for the most part. She’ll only see Derek a couple times a year. She’ll get over it.

Isaac takes classes at the community college. Boyd writes ghost articles for the local newspaper. Erica works at a gym. That’s their lives.

Scott comes to the house in June. Kira isn’t around, but Derek knows she went out with Stiles somewhere. She’ll be staying over at his house this evening and when she returns in the morning, it will probably only be to shower and change before she goes out again. She doesn’t spend a lot of time with him. Hasn’t in a while.

“Hey,” Scott says, hands tucked in his jean pockets.

Derek nods his greeting. “Scott. Can I help you?”

“Actually, I don't wanna sound like a douche, but I came to help _you_.”

Derek raises an eyebrow. “Me?”

Scott nods. “See, I’ve been staying away from Kira since we spoke in December and, well, after that I spoke with her. She's not super happy with me either. But she is good friends with Stiles, who is my brother. He's been telling me she's not doing as well as she seems.”

“What?”

“She really needs you,” Scott says quietly. “Stiles explained to me, foxes aren't pack animals but when there's a bond—she's just really mad is all. I just, I think you two should talk.” He scuffs his shoes against the porch. “I know it’s not my place to tell you how to run your pack, but I know Kira’s too proud to tell you she needs you. I think, with her going away next year and the inevitability of what you see as a doomed relationship—she needs you again. And she’s not willing to show weakness to you.”

Derek swallows tightly. “Thank you. For telling me.”

Scott nods. “Of course. Anything for Kira.” He steps backwards off the porch, waving goodbye, and goes to his car. Derek is still standing in the doorway when Scott drives away.

Derek's got Erica's legs on him, her head resting on Boyd's lap as they each read different things. Isaac is curled up against Erica, not reading anything, but napping like a cat. It's peaceful, or it should be, but it isn't because Kira isn't home. They all keep twitching, waiting for the door to open.

Eventually they all go to sleep. Derek is fitful, restless, and he sleeps on the couch, waiting for Kira to walk in the front door. The sun is barely in the sky by the time she arrives, and Derek pushes up, blinking deliriously.

“Hey,” he says.

Kira looks at him. “Hi.”

“Want some breakfast?” Derek offers.

She nods and follows him to the kitchen.

“I should have called,” she says quietly.

“You don't have to call me,” he says. “I'm not your father.”

“Derek,” she sighs and tugs a box of cereal away from him. “Will you look at me?”

He does. She looks exhausted, wearing the same clothes as the night before, purse slung over her shoulder. She smells like dry sweat and alcohol and a million other people. “Where were you?” Derek asks.

“Stiles and I went dancing.”

Derek nods. “Okay.”

“Derek—”

“Is this you acting out?” he says suddenly. “Is that what this is? Because I don't know what you want me to do.”

“I'm not,” she sighs. “I'm just trying to have fun. I'm being careful, I'm staying safe.”

“Isaac and Erica go out and have fun all the time,” Derek mumbles. “I don't see why you have to go out and do it with other people.”

“Because I like Stiles,” Kira says defensively, “and he likes me. We have a good time together, and since we’ll be going to school together next year, it’s a good friendship. And I know you have an issue with me being friends with people from other packs, but I’m going to see _him_ every day next semester and not you. So let me have this one thing, okay, Derek?”

Derek licks his lips. “I know you’re still upset about Scott.”

“It wasn’t a decision you got to make,” Kira tells him.

“It wasn't unreasonable,” he says. “He's too young to be so powerful. But—he's not a bad guy. He has amazing control.”

“Oh, now you like him,” she huffs. “Whatever, Derek, he's probably over me. He's probably dating someone else.”

“That’s not the point, Kira.” He sets down a bowl of cereal in front of her. “The point is that I was doing what was best for you and for this pack. I know you dislike me for it, but it was important that it be done. I just don’t want you to think that my unwillingness to see you and Scott together was anything more than my care for your wellbeing. And,” he adds with a sigh, “I don’t want it to mean that we can’t still be the way we used to.”

She pours some milk into her cereal and pokes at it with a spoon. “It'll mean that if you do this every time someone thinks about getting close to me. Mom left you in charge of my general wellbeing; I don't think she meant my virtue.”

“Your father was the one who insisted on that,” Derek tries to joke. “Oh, and they're visiting. Did they email you?”

She nods. “Look, Derek, I get what you're saying, and I—I miss you. But I can't just be okay with you not trusting me.”

“It was never about me not trusting you,” he argues. “I trust you implicitly. It was about me not trusting a fresh, new Alpha with a dead girlfriend and a broken pack.” He exhales heavily. “Kira, this position attracts a lot of unfriendly people. I know Scott’s situation is a little different, but the point stands.”

“And now?” she asks. “If he wanted to—would you trust him with me now?”

Derek grits his teeth. “We’ll see,” he says.

She grins and jumps up and hugs him. “I have an idea—why don't we all have dinner together! Then you can stop being prickly about us hanging out with them.”

Derek wants to say no. He wants to say they can’t do it, that it isn’t appropriate, but Kira is going to be gone in two months, and he’s basically leaving her in the hands of an inexperienced kitsune who works incredibly close to Scott McCall. So it really couldn’t hurt.

He sighs, pushes a hand through his hair. “Yeah,” he says. “Okay. All of us?”

Kira nods. “All of us,” she confirms. “I'll call Stiles.”

 

* * *

 

Boyd is actually laughing at him, which means things are serious.

“You look like one of them British guys from those old timey things Erica watches,” Isaac snickers.

“He means Mr. Darcy,” Boyd points out helpfully. “He's just illiterate.”

Derek's wearing a button down shirt and dark jeans so he doesn't see the resemblance in the slightest.

“Please stop scowling,” Erica pleads. “Just for like the first ten minutes at least.”

“I’m not scowling,” Derek argues.

“Uh huh.” Erica smoothes down her dress. “I haven’t seen Stiles since he was in high school. Think he’s still gorgeous?”

Boyd snorts. Isaac shrugs.

Kira returns from the bathroom then, sliding into the booth with them. She’s dressed nicely in a very pretty dress that Derek has never seen her wear before. She’s beautiful always, but Derek can see she’s put a little more effort in this afternoon, and he’s fairly certain it isn’t because they’re in a nice restaurant.

“They’re on their way,” Kira says, taking a sip from her water. “Stiles says they’ll be here in a couple minutes. Lydia, Malia, Scott, and himself. That’s—all of them.”

“We have a big enough table,” Derek says.

“She nervous, dumbass,” Boyd sighs. “It's fine, Kira. We won't let him embarrass you in front of your friends.”

Kira smiles nervously and Erica touches her hair, moving some of it over her shoulders and some of it back. As far as Derek can see, it doesn’t really change anything about Kira’s appearance, but Erica seems happy.

When they arrive, Kira stands. They have a large circular booth to fit all of them, and Derek is on the end so it wouldn’t be improbable to him to stand and shake hands with Scott, but Scott approaches first to greet him, takes his hand. Kira gives the Alpha a little nod, but she goes to embrace a tall boy with soft-looking brown hair and honey-almond eyes. It must be Stiles, Derek thinks, and his mouth dries up as soon as Stiles looks to him.

“Alpha Hale,” he says brightly, offering a hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you—I’m Stiles Stilinski.”

“Derek,” Derek says because he can’t form any other words. Stiles’ hands are warm and strong, his arms held nicely by a maroon button down, shoulders broad. He’s positively gorgeous, and Derek has to remember why they’re there.

Malia Tate is the next one he’s introduced to, pretty face and pretty body. She’s stiff but not unlikeable, somewhat like the banshee, Lydia. Lydia Martin is petite and doll-like but her eyes are hard and the line of her mouth says she is completely uninterested in being trifled with. Derek appreciates her already.

A lot of them already know each other and fall into easy conversation about the town they grew up in.

Derek listens, observes, and tries with every fiber of his being to keep his eyes off the fox across the table. He can't though. He can't stop staring at the boy or the dark purple aura about him.

He shouldn’t be surprised when Stiles notices. He’s embarrassed, of course, knows that his ears are turning red and that he wants to look away, but he doesn’t. Can’t. Stiles doesn’t look away either, just smirks at him, takes a sip of his drink, and goes back to a conversation with Erica like their five-second staring contest meant nothing.

“So Danny's having a party,” Lydia says after they've finished their meal, “you guys should come. It's just downtown.”

Danny is, of course, Scott’s emissary. Unofficially part of Scott’s pack, he doesn’t attend pack-like functions, but Kira has told him all about Danny and his intellect, as well as his close relationship to every member of the McCall bunch.

“That sounds like a great idea,” Kira says, leaning forward to look at Derek.

Derek exchanges a glance with Boyd. “Sure,” he says. “Have a good time.”

“You’re welcome to come along,” Scott says. “The more the merrier.”

“I think I’m a little old for college parties.”

“Danny isn't in college,” Malia says. “He already finished.”

Stiles smiles and runs his fingers through her hair playfully. “Yeah, she's right, just mature adults partying. You should come, Alpha Hale.”

Derek locks eyes with him for a moment. “All right,” he says, and Stiles smirks.

“Good.”

It’s not a house party. It’s a party in a big, abandoned warehouse with a DJ and strobe lights and a cover charge. As soon as they get inside, Kira disappears, along with Lydia and Malia. Erica and Boyd go off to dance, and Scott is nowhere to be found. Stiles, on the other hand, hasn’t gone anywhere.

“You like to dance, Alpha Hale?”

Derek arches an eyebrow. “You asking me to dance?”

“Do you want me to ask you to dance?”

“I don't dance,” Derek says.

“Well,” Stiles says through a grin, “that just sounds like a challenge.” He grabs Derek’s hand without awaiting a response, pulling him through the throng of people, the large crowd of thrusting bodies and sweating people. He comes to a stop in the exact center and puts his arms around Derek’s neck, crossing his wrists behind Derek’s head. “You’ll learn,” he says into Derek’s ear, and then he starts moving.

It should be absolutely unthinkable. He just met this kid a couple of hours ago and Derek is already planning how to get him into bed. It’s been a while, he’ll admit, since he was with someone, especially since he was with anyone as interesting and beautiful and captivating as Stiles.

So they dance. Derek puts his hands on Stiles’ waist, leans in so they can press together, and lets Stiles lead him. Dancing is a good distraction technique, lets Derek forget that their packs haven’t been on perfectly friendly terms. It lets him forget all of the reasons why it’s completely ludicrous that he’s lusting after a nineteen-year-old kitsune with a pretty mouth and even prettier eyes.

Stiles leans in, his breath hot on Derek's ear. “See, Alpha Hale? We're not such a bad bunch.”

Before he can think of something to say the music booms louder and Stiles presses even closer. He drags his hands down Derek’s shoulders and chest, and unbuttons a couple of the top buttons on Derek’s shirt. Derek just stares at him, silent, watching as Stiles smoothes his hands further down and untucks Derek’s shirt from his pants.

“Better?” Stiles asks, and he drops his mouth to Derek’s jaw to take a bite.

Derek’s hands tighten on Stiles’ waist. “Stiles—”

“Relax,” Stiles says. “You can hear everyone anyway. Kira and Scott are over by the couches.” He points accordingly. “They’re having a conversation. Boyd and Erica are a couple feet away, dancing. Lydia and Malia are drinking. And Isaac is hitting on some girl over by the bar.” He licks his lips, looks Derek in the eye again. “I’m not blind, Alpha Hale. I saw the way you were looking at me at dinner. I felt it.”

“It wasn't appropriate,” Derek mutters. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be,” Stiles says. “Don't be sorry. I live for inappropriate glances.”

“I shouldn't.” Derek shakes his head because he isn't sure what he should or shouldn't do. “Your Alpha—”

“Scott trusts my judgment and my instincts.” Stiles hushes him and runs a thumb over his lips. “You should trust yours.”

“It's not appropriate—”

“You've already said that,” Stiles informs him with a smirk. “And besides, if you cared that strongly about how inappropriate it was, you wouldn't be doing this with me right now.”

“Scott doesn't—”

“This isn't about Scott,” Stiles laughs. “Do you see Scott here? This”—he gestures between the two of them—”isn't any of his business and he knows it.” Stiles pushes close again, forehead against Derek's. “So. Still wanna keep arguing about it or you finally gonna kiss me?”

Derek tries to train his ears on his pack, make sure they're well out of earshot and sight. He can't do this to them, or at the very least can't make a spectacle of it.

He nods towards a darkened corner and that only makes Stiles smile wider.

He pulls Derek forward and backs himself into a wall before wrapping his hand around the back of Derek's neck. Stiles isn't a novice with wolves, he must know what a forward, heavy gesture it is.

“Stiles,” he breathes out so quietly that the man's weaker ears couldn't possibly hear. But Stiles brushes their lips together and sighs.

“My name sounds different when you say it.”

Derek huffs, body humming. It's need, plain and simple, like an Omega's heat. Stiles is warm and he smells so—good. Derek falls into him easily, kissing him like he's starving for it. He doesn't want to talk, doesn't want to flirt. He just wants Stiles' body against his. And it doesn't matter now that there are several hundred people around, that anyone could walk past and twist their head and figure out what they're doing. None of that is important. It's going to happen whether someone notices or not.

Stiles' cock is sturdy, hefty in his hand, and it looks beautiful tucked between Derek's fingers. He doesn't have a lot of time between admiring the way Stiles looks and feels against his palm, his fingertips, before he's entirely distracted by Stiles pushing his own hand into Derek's jeans.

Derek shoves forward, mouth open. “Fuck,” he says plainly, and Stiles kisses his mouth.

“We should,” Stiles says. “After. You can fuck me in your car if you want.”

Derek pushes into Stiles' hand, hissing when Stiles drags him out. “Stiles--”

“I'd suck you off right here if I didn't think it was more likely to get us caught.”

He presses forward and jerks Stiles off faster just total shut him up. He's using his body to shield them more out of jealousy than embarrassment. That's what he is, jealously guarding the way Stiles flutters his eyes, trying so hard to keep them open.

Derek just kisses him. In lieu of saying something supportive or apologetic, instead of telling Stiles to come, to get it over with--Derek just kisses him. Stiles' hand is still attentive, tight around Derek cock, but the only thing Derek cares about right now is the line of Stiles' body, the soft give of his mouth, and the way his cock jerks in Derek's hand. 

“Do you like getting fucked?” Derek asks before he can stop himself.

“Yeah,” Stiles exhales. “Think you're the man for the job?”

Derek has never wanted to come so badly in his life. All he can fucking think about is getting inside of Stiles, fucking him the way he needs it, the way he wants it. It's never been like this—so fast, so dramatic, so fucking desperate.

Derek bites Stiles' lower lip. “After you come,” he says lowly. “I'll fuck you wherever you want. After you come.”

Stiles moans, one hand latching onto the back of Derek’s neck. “Promise?” he rasps.

“Yeah. Yeah, I promise.”

“Even if I— _fuck_ , oh, _God_ —even if I want to fuck in your house— _don’t stop_ —on the couch, or—or against the kitchen counter—”

Derek catches Stiles’ mouth for a moment. “Anywhere,” he says solemnly.

Stiles is gorgeous when he comes. He’s practically a puddle, the way he collapses into Derek’s body. Derek is glad he’s wearing an undershirt because he strips off his button down to wipe away the come and sweat, leaves it in the corner and tucks himself back in as he pulls Stiles towards the door. They get all the way to the exit before Kira steps in front of Derek, eyes hard and flashing gold.

“Hey,” Stiles says with a giant smile on his face. “Uh, Derek and I were just saying we were feeling kinda tired, thought we’d crash for the night—”

“I can’t believe you,” Kira interrupts, spitting her words. “You strictly forbade me from seeing Scott, forbade him from trying to see me, and now you’re—”

“Whoa, hey,” Stiles tries.

Kira turns her eyes on him. “You should know better,” she says. “After everything I told you.”

Stiles shrugs. “He’s really hot.”

Kira frowns and then plants her hands on her hips. “Fine. See you in the morning then.”

“Kira,” Derek huffs. “I want you to go home.”

“Oh, no.” She shakes her head. “No, no. You leave here with Stiles? I'll see you in the morning. Your choice, Derek.”

Stiles digs his fingers into Derek’s side. “Derek, what does it matter if she—”

“It matters,” he spits. He looks at Stiles. “It’s my job to watch after her, and—”

“The most Scott’s gonna do is sleep on his couch so that Kira can sleep in his bed,” Stiles protests. “You really think he’s gonna pull a homerun if Kira so much as gives the slightest signal she’s not up for pitching the ball?”

Derek blinks. “You’re using baseball metaphors to talk about my kitsune’s sex life?”

Stiles makes a face like a puppy has been shoved in his face. “ _Your_ kitsune? Derek, she isn't a Pokemon. Is that why you want all up on this? Are you trying to catch 'em all?”

“What—no, that’s not—that has nothing to do with us. This. That’s not—” He huffs, looking to Kira again. “You can’t go home with Scott.”

“You said you were warming up to him,” Kira informs him.

“I said we would talk about it.”

“We’re talking about it now.” She crosses her arms firmly over her chest. “If you go home with Stiles, I’m going home with Scott. That’s the deal.”

Stiles coughs out a little laugh and takes a step away from Derek. “No,” he says, “that’s not the deal.” He looks at Derek. “I changed my mind,” he says. “I’m gonna stay. Here. With Kira.”

“Stiles—”

“I’ll see you another time,” Stiles tells him, and he heads back into the crowd with Kira’s hand in his.

He doesn't actually see her until she climbs into the car with Isaac later when he goes to pick them up. He’s freshly changed now, showered, and still annoyed.

“I want you to know,” Isaac starts, “that I could be having sex right now. But I'm not. Because Kira isn't. This is an act of solidarity with her, not you. Now drive.”

Derek does. He drives them home, watches as Kira storms out of the car with Isaac on her heels, both of them going upstairs and into Kira’s bedroom. He can hear, from downstairs, as the shower starts. He settles down on the couch, in sweats and a T-shirt, rubbing a hand over his face. When he checks his phone, he sees a text from an unknown number.

**From: Unknown (12:32 AM)**

_I swiped your digits from Kira’s phone while she was in the bathroom. I’d like to see you again, but that’s not gonna happen until you get your head out of your ass about Kira and Scott. You can’t get your hands on me until she gets her hands on him._

_That's blackmail,_ he texts back, _and it's not going to happen._

He sets his phone down and gets up to grab a glass of water. When he comes back there's another text waiting for him.

**From: Stiles (12:35 AM)**

_Right, cause you can totally keep your hands off my goods._

Derek ignores the text, shoves his phone into the pocket of his sweats, and starts trudging upstairs to get into bed. When he’s settled under the covers, lamp off, only distantly listening to Kira and Isaac whisper about him, he gets another text.

 

**From: Stiles (12:42 AM)**

This has a lot of potential, Derek. I’m into you and you’re into me, and there’s no reason we can’t act on that. As soon as you prove to me you’re not the kind of Alpha who’s so attached to his betas that he refuses to let them be happy.

 

**From: Stiles (12:43 AM)**

Sleep well, Alpha Hale. Call me tomorrow if you decide you wanna be the good guy.

 

* * *

 

The next morning everyone is chipper in the way that only the supernatural can be when they're supposed to be hung over.

They're gathered around the table having breakfast when he finally breaks down.

“Am I the bad guy?”

Boyd immediately stands from the table and leaves towards the kitchen. Erica sets down her fork—that had been digging into an omelet Boyd had prepared for her—and folds her hands. Isaac looks down at his food, and Kira stares straight ahead at Derek.

“Derek,” Isaac starts, but that’s as far as he gets.

“Yes,” Erica says shortly. “You’re the bad guy. What’s it been? A year? Nearly?” She throws her hands up. “If Scott is still harboring a flame for Kira and he hasn’t acted on it because you asked him not to, then he’s the good guy, Derek. And you’re the bad guy.”

“Not to mention,” Isaac adds, “you were pretty hypocritical last night. Hooking up with Stiles who is to Scott as Kira is to you. That didn’t seem to cross a line to you?”

“It's not the same,” Derek growls.

Erica slams her hands on the table. “Because she's a girl?”

Derek leans over the table with a snarl. “Because she's a _child_.”

“I could kill you in twenty-nine ways!” Kira shouts. She stands too then, leaning over the table towards Derek, and they’re facing off head-to-head. “I’m eighteen years old. Scott only a year older than I am. He’s—smart, and funny, and kind, and he’s a good guy. I don’t understand—”

“Because your first love is just going to be your first heartbreak!” Derek explodes, and the room falls silent. “Because—” He breathes deeply. “Because I’ve watched everyone in this room break and fall apart at least once over someone. Because the longer I can protect you from that, I will. And because no matter how smart, no matter how funny, no matter how kind, Alphas don’t make good mates, Kira. They just—don’t. And I won’t watch you throw yourself into a fast, hard relationship that’s just going to end up destroying you. I won’t watch him hurt you, even if he has no intention of doing so.”

“Well I'm done sitting here and listening to your damage over protecting me,” she snaps. “Scott is only holding back from approaching me. He's not going to turn me away if I go to him. You wanna know why? Because he respects my choices.” She inhales sharply. “And that’s more than I can say for you. And I—I respect you, Derek, I really do. I appreciate your strength and your wisdom and your compassion in a lot of ways, but you don’t respect my choices. You don’t _trust_ me. You think I don’t know that people get hurt? You think I’m completely unaware that there’s a very low chance of this working out well for me? But where in the hell does it say that that’s a bad thing?”

“Kira—”

“I’m sick of having this conversation, Derek. Sick of it. You wanted to know if you were the bad guy and you are. That’s the end of it.”

He feels defeated, he feels as he usually does, completely unfit for the responsibility he has. “All right,” he says, “if that's how you all feel.”

That's all he says and they stare and Boyd comes back inside and tilts his head. “There's more to that. There's gotta be.”

“No.” Derek shakes his head. “That's all there is.”

Boyd sighs, leans against the doorway. “Kira, Derek had a good reason for disapproving of you and Scott last year. A fresh Alpha, not fully in control, we weren’t sure which way he was gonna go. But now—now, yesterday, Derek tried. He let you set up dinner. He met everyone.”

“He screwed around with Stiles,” Kira mutters under breath.

“He put effort into something for your happiness and found it difficult to change his ways,” Boyd continues. “But that doesn’t mean he’s going to quit putting in that effort forever.”

Erica wraps herself around Boyd. “Isn't he wise?”

“It doesn't matter,” Derek insists. “In this, Kira can do whatever she wants. I'm—I trust you.” He tries to show her how earnest he is, but he probably just looks like a weirdo.

Kira drops her hands to her sides. “Really?” she asks.

Derek nods. “You’re right. I was—being a hypocrite. And it wasn’t fair to you. And I should let you make your own decisions now that I know Scott is in control of himself.”

Kira blinks, looks around the room. “Are you just saying that because Stiles is withholding sex until you let me go out with Scott?”

Erica laughs. “Is he really? That’s crafty.”

“I—no.” He shakes his head. “I would never make such an important decision based on—”

“Relax,” Isaac laughs. “She’s kidding. It's a good plus though?”

Derek massages his temples. “Kira, I trust you. You can see whomever you’d like. And I promise—if something happens, if you need me to pick you up, if there’s anything you need me for ever—I promise not to rub it in your face. I promise to just—be there.”

Kira shoves herself into Derek’s arms, face buried in his chest. “Thank you,” she says, and they stand there, embracing each other for a long time.

 

* * *

 

Derek is sitting on the couch, reading, when the doorbell rings. He’s alone tonight. Isaac went out with Erica and Boyd, and Kira left about a half hour ago, telling Derek she was going over to see Scott. Derek hadn’t asked, didn’t want to know what they were going to do or say or anything. He just told her to text if she wasn’t going to be home that night and that he hoped she had a nice time.

“It’s killing you still a little bit, right?” she’d asked him.

His answer had been an emphatic yes. It probably would be for a long time.

But he’s alone when the doorbell rings and he knows, before he even reaches the door, who’s going to be on the other side of it.

“Hey,” Stiles says, leaning in the doorway.

Derek arches an eyebrow. “Hey.”

“I was over at Scott’s,” Stiles drawls, and he pushes himself off of the wall and steps across the threshold, “when Kira came over. She, uh, had some words with him, and I left when they started making out on the couch. I should add, by the way, that his mother will be home tonight and Scott is legitimately the most gentlemanly guy I’ve ever known so there is absolutely no reason to fear that he will do anything untoward.”

Derek drops his book. He doesn’t break eye contact.

Stiles smirks. “Hey,” he says again.

“What are you doing here?”

“I felt bad the other night, when I made you break your promise.” He shrugs, looking Derek up and down. “Then again, you were being kind a dick. So, I didn’t feel that bad.”

“My promise?” Derek asks.

“To fuck me.”

Derek's eyes roam over Stiles’ body, over his face and his lips before he wraps his arm around the boy's waist and pulls him forward.

“I keep thinking you must have done something to me,” Derek mutters. “Some trick, some spell, because I'm not like this. It has never been like this.”

Stiles shrugs, kicks the door closed behind him. “Just because it never has been doesn’t mean it can’t ever be.”

“How poetic.”

“You have no idea.” Stiles kisses him immediately, mouth hot and wet and desperate on his. They stands there, just slightly wobbly, grabbing at each other as they make out, and it isn’t until Stiles drags his nails down Derek’s neck that Derek remembers what they’re supposed to be doing.

He pulls back from the kiss and shoves Stiles’ hoodie off of his shoulders. He decides not to comment on the fact that it’s summer and hot as balls outside right now, instead focusing on getting Stiles undressed. Thankfully, Stiles has similar concerns, and they’re both half naked and shoe-less within a few minutes.

Stiles pulls him back in for another kiss, hand on the back of Derek’s neck. “What’d you do when you got home the other night?” he asks against Derek’s mouth. “I already got to come, but you hadn’t. Did you jerk off thinking about me?”

Derek bites at Stiles' lip. “Had some trouble on the way home, got distracted.”

Stiles pulls his lip away before mouthing at Derek's neck. “Good thing we've got the place to ourselves. I'll tell you what.” He nips and sucks at the curve of his shoulder. “Even though I'd already gotten off, I still went home and thought about what I'd missed.”

Derek squeezes Stiles’ hips. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says. “I went up into my bedroom and jerked off thinking about you fucking me. I thought about your mouth on my dick and your fingers inside of me, thought about you pushing into me with that hot, barely-restrained force.” He breaks off in a moan as Derek palms his cock through his jeans. “I fingered myself open thinking about you.”

“And?” Derek pushes.

“And I fucked myself with a vibrator,” Stiles says proudly. “Probably not as good as it would have been with you, but it was something. It was—good.”

“I’ll be better,” Derek growls.

Stiles gasps softly when Derek tugs his jeans open and slips his hands down the back of them, grabbing fistfuls of his ass. “Promise?” he asks coyly.

Derek nods. “I promise.”

They’re naked by the time they get to the stairs. Derek is following Stiles up to the bedroom, but he can’t keep himself from touching Stiles, from kissing his skin, from running his hands along his body, his ass, his legs, his arms. Stiles ends up stopping them just a few feet from Derek’s bedroom, kissing him again and again.

“Stay here,” Stiles says.

Derek blinks. “What?”

“I’m gonna—” He jerks his thumb over towards the door of Derek’s bedroom. “I’m gonna roll around in your sheets for a little bit, get ready. You—stay here. And don’t jerk off.”

“Wait, what are you—”

But Stiles just goes, smiling cockily. So Derek stands there, in the hallway, as his bedroom door is closed and he has to close his eyes and listen to what Stiles is doing in there, let himself imagine every little thing.

When he starts hearing increasingly desperate moans he growls under his breath and strides into the room.

He almost trips and knocks himself out. Stiles has got his face smashed against Derek's pillows, his ass in the air, and his long fingers moving steadily in and out of him. Stiles doesn’t even pause. He was probably listening for Derek too, knew when he was going to lose patience and come in. It’s—astonishing, watching Stiles fuck himself open without the least bit of shame.

Derek stares, cock hard and throbbing, bobbing against his stomach. “Stiles,” he says brokenly.

Stiles moves his head, still breathing hard, and looks at Derek. “Just gonna stand there, Alpha?” he asks, wiggling his hips. “Or you gonna come over here and do your job?”

Derek likes having sex with other supernatural beings. Humans are—great. Soft, warm. But they’re also breakable, and sometimes Derek has some control issues with his eyes when he’s close to orgasm. So, weres are better, hotter, more satisfying. Stiles is agile and lanky in the best way. He pours himself into Derek’s lap when Derek gets on the bed, and they’re grinding up against each other within seconds, mouths connected, bodies rolling.

Derek’s fingers push inside carefully, feeling around. Stiles moans, digging his fingers into Derek’s shoulders.

“Warn a guy,” he mutters.

“Lube?” he asks.

“I’m prepped.”

“Lube,” Derek repeats, and Stiles tips backwards to reach for it before pushing it into Derek’s hand.

He puts Stiles on his stomach just because he likes the way it looks. He likes the way Stiles’ legs spread to accommodate his cock. He likes the way his shoulders are tight, his elbows tucked in under his chest. He likes the way that Stiles squirms, pushing his ass back towards Derek, silently telling him to get on with it.

He fingers Stiles for a long time. He wants to enjoy it, wants to experience it. It’s the best thing in the world, feeling Stiles on his fingers and watching him react. Every sense is utilized, every part of his body completely at attention, and he lays his body over Stiles’, mouth on the back of the boy’s neck.

“I could fuck you like this. Down on your belly, submissive and aching, desperate for my cock.”

Stiles chokes out a half laugh, half moan. “Hey, Derek—maybe I like getting fucked, but that doesn’t make me your little sub. And,” he adds, rolling his hips to push Derek’s fingers deeper, “by the way, next time—you’re getting fucked.”

Derek grins. “You won’t hear me complaining.”

Stiles ends up on top of him, Derek on his back, Stiles pinning his wrists down above his head. Stiles waggles his eyebrows. “Who's subby now?”

Derek doesn't waste energy forming words. Instead he moves his hips upward, happy to beg as long as he gets to claim Stiles in the end. Stiles takes his time with it, though, moving his cock against Derek’s stomach, rolling his hips and making sure that Derek’s cock fits between his thighs, burying itself against Stiles’ ass.

“Do you want me to get a condom?” Stiles asks, and he doesn’t even sound winded.

Derek gasps out a laugh. “No,” he says. “C’mon, Stiles—ride me.”

Stiles presses his hands to Derek's chest and smiles, soft and almost sweet. “So you can be nice when you wanna, huh?”

He doesn't say anything else as he takes Derek's cock and sinks down onto him slowly.

“Ah,” he breathes out. “Ah, ah—I might have— _ohsweetfuck_. I might have underestimated you, Alpha.”

Derek licks his lips, trying to slow his breathing. “Yeah?” he croaks.

Stiles chuckles, eyes still closed, hips flushed with Derek’s. “Yeah,” he affirms. “Fuck. You feel—fuck.”

He doesn’t sit there for long. He takes a couple moments to himself and Derek clenches his hands into fists and waits as Stiles just sits there, breathing, feeling, absorbing every sensation he can. Eventually, however, Stiles blinks open his eyes and stares straight at Derek’s face.

Stiles takes riding Derek seriously, more seriously perhaps than he's been about anything in the short time since they've met. His face is calm except for when he's struck with an expression of pleasure. The quicker he moves, the more those expressions and moans take over.

He doesn’t break eye contact. Sometimes—when he rolls his hips and helps Derek press against his prostate—his eyelids will flutter or drop momentarily, but other than that he doesn’t look away from Derek’s eyes. He runs his hands down Derek’s chest, stomach. He touches his own neck, his own thighs, brushes his knuckles against his cock but otherwise ignores it. It’s all about the places their bodies are touching. Everything else is just—for later.

Derek meets his thrusts. When he drops to bury Derek inside of him, Derek pushes up. They move like that together, grinding and pushing and fucking each other diligently. The soundtrack is grunts and sighs and moans. They’ll laugh occasionally, like when Stiles grinds down on Derek’s dick so pleasantly that he pops his claws and can’t, for long moments, figure out how to make them retract. Derek doesn’t let up, at all, just gives and gives and gives, knowing he’s taking more than his fair share anyway.

Stiles leans in close and kisses him, he's perfectly still with Derek deep inside him. “I can think circles around you but I don't have your stamina.” He laughs. “I’m an intellectual.”

Derek kisses him and gives a thrust. “Saying you're tired?”

Stiles bites at his jaw. “M'saying you can go at it.” He lifts his hands to Derek’s hair, petting gently. He doesn’t move except to lean in and kiss Derek’s neck lazily, fingers massaging Derek’s scalp.

Derek can feel where Stiles is still achingly hard. But they have been doing this for—a while. It’s not unreasonable that Stiles is legitimately tuckered out, but he also can’t help but feel a little used—in a good way.

“You’re not human either,” Derek points out.

“Yeah, but I’m not a wolf.” Stiles kisses Derek’s Adam’s apple. “C’mon, Alpha. Fuck me like you mean it.”

Derek can't help his growl when he takes Stiles' hips and flips them. Stiles makes an annoyed little noise when Derek slips out of him and lets Stiles bounce on the bed. He looks like he’s been thoroughly wronged, and Derek is trying to calculate how exactly to manhandle Stiles in an appropriate way, so he doesn’t notice until it’s too late that Stiles is entirely affronted at the interruption of their sexy times. He doesn’t notice until Stiles is fucking himself with his fingers, legs spread wide, head tossed back.

Derek stares. “What are you doing?”

“I told you to fuck me,” Stiles pants, “and you weren’t.”

Derek blinks at him for a moment before he pries Stiles' hands away from himself and gapes. “You're a brat.”

Stiles huffs. “I need to be fucked.”

“Do you need to be fucked,” Derek hums as he leans into him, “or do you need me to fuck you?”

“There’s no difference,” Stiles says.

Derek doesn’t wait, just pushes inside of Stiles without warning, sliding in easy. “I think there is,” he says conversationally. “If you need to be fucked, I could just walk out of here right now; you could call someone else to come fill you up.”

Stiles licks his lips. They’re dry, cracking. “What if I said I needed you?”

Derek shrugs, gets his hands under Stiles’ shoulders to hold him still as he thrusts in long, patient movements. “I might not believe you.”

Stiles moans as Derek speeds up. “Derek, we’ve been—it’s been forever—just—make me come—”

Derek drives into him quicker, more desperately. He feels like a boy, aching and needy for release. “I will,” he grunts. “I'll get you there.”

“Y-yeah.” Stiles scratches at his back. “Yes—yes—yes—”

Sex for him was mostly a thing he participated in by himself, in the shower, in his bed, hand around his dick, occasionally some penetration of his own when he needed it. But he hasn’t been to bed with someone else for a long time, years, and he forgot how strong the instinct to please was. He forgot how badly he wanted to prove to Stiles that he was a good partner, a good mate, that Derek could and would provide anything to Stiles that he so much as asked for in spite of all of his teasing flirtation. It hits him hard, makes him feel like sobbing, when he realizes that he’s already grown attached to a boy he’s known for less than two days.

He makes sure that Stiles comes. He makes sure that Stiles is shaking and crying out, but comfortable and safe. He makes sure that Stiles feels his presence, that Stiles knows Derek is still there, ready to do anything he needs.

Stiles licks his bottom lip, swallows. His hands are still on Derek’s back. “You’re still hard.”

Derek blinks. “Oh.” He hadn’t even been paying attention. “Yeah.”

Stiles smirks. “You hadn't noticed?”

Derek rolls his eyes. “I was busy.”

“Yeah, you were.” Stiles gives him a dopey smile. “Wait, where are you going?”

Derek isn't an idiot, he knows how sex works. He’s just—not used to it.

“The whole point of your super perfect canine immune system is you get to make a mess of my ass,” Stiles breathes out as he wraps his legs around Derek's hips, “or don't you want to?”

Derek blinks again. “It’s—well, I don’t know about you, but getting fucked in the ass doesn’t feel that great when you’re not really up for it.”

Stiles shrugs. “I’m up for it,” he says. “But I guess, if you wanted to stop, you could just jerk off on my stomach.”

“I don’t want to stop.”

“Then don’t,” Stiles says, and he pulls Derek back in to kiss him again.

They kiss a lot. Derek—doesn’t need much. It isn’t going to take him that long. So he kisses Stiles and moves in him and revels in Stiles’ soft sighs and moans, his body’s reactions to Derek’s movements. When Derek comes, he does so staring at Stiles’ soft, happy eyes, and he can’t ever remember feeling so whole.

Stiles clutches at his back and throws his head back like he's the one that just came. “That feels incredible.”

Derek mouths at his neck. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” he breathes out. “Don't pull out, not yet.”

So he doesn’t. He wills himself to stay as hard as possible, stay buried inside Stiles for as long as he needs him. It’s a little uncomfortable, the intense sensations of Stiles’ body on Derek’s sensitive cock, but he doesn’t mind that much, not when Stiles strokes his hands over his back and whispers little encouragements to him.

They wind up in the shower together a little later, kissing lazily, soapy hands traveling across each other’s bodies.

“Stay,” Derek says.

Stiles smiles. “I was planning on it.”

 

* * *

 

He wakes when he hears laughter and Stiles moves and scuffles and there's more laughter and an obnoxious light.

“Yes,” Boyd says, much too loudly when he blinks his eyes open. “I am never letting you live this down.”

Derek rubs at his eyes and wraps his arms tighter around the boy on his chest when he sees his entire pack surrounding his bed. “What the hell.”

“You are so lucky,” Kira hisses, “that I didn't invite Scott to breakfast. _So_ lucky.”

Boyd chuckles to himself, looking down at his phone, and Derek narrows his eyes. “Boyd,” he says.

“No,” Boyd says, tucking his phone back in his pocket. “You deserve it.”

“It’s a cute picture,” Erica says with a shrug. “You guys looked very peaceful when you were sleeping.”

Stiles grabs for a pillow, pulling it over his head. “Is there any way this can be not happening right now? Because that would be great.”

Isaac laughs and tugs at Kira's arm. “I think I speak for all of us when I say we demand waffles and an upgrade to HBO if we're going to put up with this now.”

Derek flips them off, burying his face in the back of Stiles’ neck. “Leave,” he says shortly.

Kira scoffs. “We’ll be downstairs,” she says cheerily, and they all exit, leaving Stiles and Derek to roll away from each other, breathing in the morning.

“Hey,” Stiles mutters.

Derek hums. “Hi.”

“I should inform you,” Stiles mumbles, face half tucked against the pillow still, “that Kira and I have checked and we are the only known kitsune in the hemisphere. So you've effectively caught 'em all.”

Derek laughs and mouths a kiss at his jaw. “Even if there were 150 of you, I've got more than enough.”


End file.
